Poetry

1. THE TUNE OF AIR.
The mystic tune of melodious air,
Shimmering brightly in perennial softness,
With breaths of insatiable desire,
Like a golden harp beside me,
Flowing past my eyes; smothering all sorrows,
Entitling its presence to my skin,
With showers of silken delight to follow.
The path of air inside me,
Imprisons me with a wave of hope,
Briskly striding over a mountain of sadness,
Subsiding every iota of pain,
Enveloping my whole being in a languid manner,
Making surplus availability of exuberant thoughts,
To say goodbye to me.
That blazing rumble of soft movement,
Tickles my conscience astride,
Offering its red hot tenacity,
To the liquid of rage inside me,
Penetrating me with slow viscosity,
Determining my fate to go,
Placing me in an abysmal dilemma,
Like the dexterous string of elastic bows.